Sweetest Tongue and Sharpest Tooth
by adi-rotynd
Summary: Blaine takes a pretty but unwise detour on his way to see Kurt. Wolves lurk in many guises. Little Red Riding Hood retelling.


**Spoilers:** Up to 3.8; this takes place well before 3. 11 ("Michael").  
**Warnings:** Horror, character death, though nothing graphic.  
**Disclaimer:** RIB and FOX own everything ever.  
**Beta: **rdm_ation on LJ

Enjoy, and by all means review should it strike your fancy, my best beloveds.~

* * *

Once upon a time there lived in a certain city in Ohio a boy named Blaine, the sweetest creature who was ever seen. His friends were excessively fond of him, and his boyfriend doted on him still more. In fact, Sebastian thought the whole business nauseatingly cute. Or rather he _would _have thought it nauseating, had Blaine not been so very tasty, and had he, Sebastian, not planned on ending it all so soon. As it was, he just thought it enticing.

* * *

One night, Blaine went to sing in a mall. This was an activity he was not particularly proud of, but at least, he told himself, it was neither a theme park nor a GAP, and he was being paid. He was compensated for his time and effort to the tune of fifty dollars (plus tips), as were the four boys providing his backup. He called them "Mini Warblers," in private and with some pain. Less privately, Kurt called them "Blaine and the Pips Lite." Once a month they stood in the center of the bridge over the fountain, down the hall from the food court, and sang Golden Oldies that the mall might claim 'live entertainment' as an attraction.

On this particular night, he was distracted by the audience, and did not feel he performed so well as he might.

Kurt, who rolled his eyes but always came and always cheered, was not sitting on his usual bench just beyond the potted tree with the pink flowers. He said that was where the light suited him best. Blaine sometimes thought that his boyfriend was very like an exotic and delicate plant himself; he was beautiful, and sometimes dangerous, and had very specific needs when it came to light and moisture.

Everyone else was there – the little old lady with the umbrella, the man who stood too close and asked for an autograph from at least one of the boys every month, the little girl who never had an adult with her, the old man who muttered to himself, the ebbing and flowing group of teenagers and their parents – but not Kurt.

Sebastian, who had never come before, was there. He stood near Kurt's place at the bench just beyond the potted tree with the pink flowers, which seemed wilted and frost-bitten today. He smiled and swayed in place and stared, never at Blaine's eyes. He cheered after every song.

The old man who muttered to himself did not mutter, and the little girl who never had an adult with her seemed to be with him, this time. The air conditioning was broken and the air felt thick, hot, wet. It made Blaine dizzy.

Blaine hopped in place one last time, holding the last note as long as he could, and threw his arms out once more. _"Where'd you get those eyes," _he sang, then bowed.

The applause was warm and good as always, fluttering all around him and beneath him until he could fly with it. Everyone listening clapped, and everyone who heard them clapping clapped too just in case, and it echoed until there were twice as many ghosts as people congratulating him. Sebastian was still there, and Kurt still wasn't.

Blaine smiled and patted the shoulders of the other boys, laughing, and told them how good they were, before hurrying to retrieve his cell phone and turn it on. The boys were in a hurry of their own, to collect their tips and leave before the man who stood too close and asked for autographs could get to them.

_"Pretty pretty please, don't you ever, ever feel, like you're less than, less than perfect,"_ chimed Blaine's phone. _I can't make it_, said Kurt's text. _I'm sorry, I feel really sick. Everyone's out, though. Come over after your performance and make me feel better? ;) I love you._

_I'll be right over,_ Blaine typed out, and looked around for inspiration. He saw the potted tree with the pink blossoms and added, _with presents!_

When he looked up again, the other boys were gone and the man who stood too close and asked for autographs was approaching him. Before the man could get within earshot, Sebastian slid in front of him, smiling at Blaine. Blaine smiled back. Sebastian turned his head to look over his shoulder.

The man who stood too close and asked for autographs looked down at Sebastian's face, paled, and walked quickly in another direction altogether.

"Hi, Blaine," said Sebastian, sidling up to him. His smile was wide enough to crack, all of his teeth showing and shining. "You were brilliant tonight."

"Thank you," Blaine said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He had to get presents for Kurt. But – "I know I was sharp on that high note at the beginning of 'Jeepers'," he said. "And I forgot some of the lyrics halfway through."

"You were inspired," Sebastian said. "And hot. Your groupies are shaping up nicely, too, no doubt due to their fearless leader. You do bring out the best in people, don't you, Blaine?"

Blaine laughed and ducked his head.

"Where are you off to?" Sebastian asked, nodding to the bag on Blaine's shoulder or the phone in his hand or the dust on his shoes.

"Kurt's home all alone," Blaine said. "And he's feeling sick. I want to get him some presents." Everything in his chest clenched tight, because he liked Sebastian when he talked about _Blaine_, not Sebastian when he talked about _Kurt_, his glowing compliments turned to snide asides.

But Sebastian's smile twisted sideways and he only said, "Poor guy. I'm sure you'll get him the best presents. You're such a thoughtful boyfriend, Blaine. He'll perk right up as soon as he sees you." He nudged Blaine's arm, and then his hand never quite left but instead twined around until their arms were linked. He started walking, pointing the way, and Blaine walked with him. "I'll show you where to get the best stuff in the mall."

"Oh, but," said Blaine, looking over his shoulder. They were staring after him – the little old lady with the umbrella, the little girl who never had an adult with her, the old man who muttered to himself, all of them standing together under the potted tree with the pink blossoms and staring. "I'll just get him some flowers."

"This place has the best flowers," Sebastian said. "I mean, I suppose you could buy some felt-looking tulips – it would probably be good enough for _Kurt_– but as a gentleman I think you could do better and really impress him. As you're pretty, so be wise – don't you want the best for your boyfriend?"

"Yes," said Blaine. Of course he did. And he could see, now – he had never noticed this branch of the mall before – but he could see the kaleidoscope of colors, the shimmers and shinings and shiftings of it. There were flowers that bloomed only at three o'clock on Wednesday the thirteenth and were just the shade of Kurt's eyes; there were flowers that bloomed seventeen different times a day, a different color each time, and none of them a color Blaine could put a name to; there were flowers that swayed in the lightest draft of air and whistled when they were watered.

Sebastian whirled him on, to the next stall of flowers, and some of them were burning, flames for petals, and some of them were perfectly formed from ice.

"I don't think I can afford these," said Blaine, fumbling in his bag for his wallet.

"Of course you can," Sebastian said. "A Dalton man, former lead Warbler? You can afford anything here," and he swept him to the next stall, where stones glimmered and glistened. "I know you didn't get that necklace… or whatever… he wanted for Christmas. Now might be a good time to make up the disappointment." He touched a ruby and his fingers came away wet and shining, and the ruby pulsed – _thump-thump, thump-thump_– and he laughed. "Maybe this one?" and now he picked up a twining thing of silver and gold that coiled around his wrist of its own volition and settled there, humming.

"I don't know," Blaine said, eyes wide; there were so many more still to choose from – sapphires that opened and closed like sea anemones, an opal whose million specks of color whirled inside the stone like snow, emeralds that ate the light and shone with it.

"But you have to think of your father, while you're here," Sebastian added, and spun him on, to a stall of watches and clocks, all ticking at once. "His birthday's coming up, and you know he never likes what you get him. You don't want to disappoint him again when you could give him this…." He spun a pocket watch that told you how long it had been since the beginning of the world. "Or maybe something like this?" and he picked up an alarm clock that went off whenever a loved one cried.

"I don't… I can't see how I could pay for any of this," Blaine reminded himself. The ground spun under him while he stayed perfectly still.

"You can have a flower you like for a wink," said the little girl who never had an adult with her.

"The price of any jewel you desire is a butterfly kiss," said the little old lady with the umbrella.

"The clock you choose for a whistled tune," said the old man who muttered to himself.

"Oh," said Blaine, "in that case –" and he turned to thank Sebastian, but Sebastian was gone.

* * *

Kurt was in no state to receive visitors, and wouldn't have answered the door if he had thought it could be anyone but Blaine. But Blaine had said he was coming, Blaine was already late, and Kurt was looking forward to his visit and its attendant pleasures, and so he opened the door without checking to see who it was for the first time in years, for the last time, and Sebastian Smythe smiled at him.

"Hey, Kurt," he said. "Can I come in?"

Kurt let out a sound of disgust. "No, I really don't think so – Sebastian, what are you _doing _here? This is my house. Blaine's not here. Go stalk someone else for a while. I'm sure you have a line of potential suitors all the way down the block, each of them with a boyfriend of their own for you to ignore."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you. It's about Blaine."

Kurt almost closed the door. He almost closed it, and locked it, and called Blaine to complain that Sebastian was quite possibly the result of an experiment involving rat DNA. And then, instead, he opened it wider. "Fine. You know what? Come in, wipe your feet, knock your heels. Let's talk about Blaine, and about how he is _my _boyfriend and you're going to leave him alone even if I have to pry out every one of your unnaturally big teeth to drive the idea home."

"You're a fighter, aren't you, Kurt." Sebastian meandered into the living room, hands in his pockets, gaze trailing over the room and leaving a smear behind it.

Kurt, rolling his eyes and filing away Sebastian's complete lack of common courtesy for future reference, followed him. "Yes, I suppose I do get a little uppity when some oversized freshman tries to seduce my boyfriend with techniques Santana would scoff at as crude."

"You're a trailblazer," Sebastian continued, still as if Kurt had never spoken. He picked up a picture from the mantel, of Kurt and his father in front of the tire shop. "Every moment of your life is a struggle. Every role you play is one you've hacked for yourself with sheer force, or snuck into, or stabbed someone in the back for. You're brave and you work so hard, don't you, Kurt. And aren't you _tired_?"

Kurt shook his head, legs heavy. He was on his knees and didn't remember how he'd gotten there. His mind slowed, eyelids slipping down over his eyes, because yes, he was tired, from his skin down to his bones, and he had been for such a very long time…

"No," he said, "_no_, I'm not – what are you doing, what did you do to me…?"

"You're harder than Blaine was," Sebastian said, voice thousands of miles away and echoing, registering a faint note of surprise. He was kneeling before Kurt, one hand on Kurt's shoulder, the only thing keeping him from toppling over. "You're not so used to letting people tell you what you are. But that's the best thing about Blaine, isn't it? The way he lights up when you tell him he's good, because he _believes_ ou. Whatever you tell him to be – he is. We both love that, don't we, Kurt?"

Kurt managed to hit him. It was slow and Sebastian could have avoided it if he hadn't been so sure, so cocky, but it worked and it was hard. Sebastian fell back, away, and without his hand Kurt collapsed onto his back, lead pooling at his spine, so heavy, and he couldn't think, except – "What did you do," he gasped, "Blaine, what did you do to him –"

"Nothing, yet." Sebastian stood over him, peering down, eyes crinkled in a pleased smile. "You know, I thought I'd be having dessert before dinner tonight, but there's really – so much _to _you, now that I can taste you. I guess I haven't strayed beyond the bounds of etiquette after all. You're a three-course meal with wine, Kurt, isn't that nice? Blaine can be dessert."

"No," Kurt said, and thought of Blaine, and of his dad, and never made it to Finn or Rachel, to his mom or Carole. His head was heavy and his tongue lay dead and he couldn't speak.

Sebastian sat beside him as his eyelids fluttered and he stroked the tears away. "It's all right, Kurt," he said. "No one will think any less of you. You're not a hero. You're just a boy, and you're tired." He leaned in closer and Kurt's eyes closed.

* * *

Blaine was late. He didn't know how it had gotten this late, really; it hadn't taken him that long to pick out the presents – or it hadn't felt like it – everything was still spinning beneath him. Maybe he was getting sick too. Kurt and he could take care of each other. He just needed to get to Kurt's house and see him. Everything would be fine.

The door was open when he got there, swinging ever so slightly in the wind. Beyond it, everything was pitch black, as if the house had no electronics, no windows to let in light from the street, no one living there to leave on a light to ward off burglars. As if no one was home.

But – "Blaine?" Kurt called. "I'm in my room. Come in, wipe your feet, knock your heels. I missed you."

Blaine closed the door behind him and felt his way to the stairs, then up them, and along the hallway to Kurt's room. Inside there was a glow, just enough to see Kurt's outline as he sat up in bed – the swoop of his nose, the curve of his cheek. He held out his arms. "Come here, Blaine," he said. "I'm so cold. Come make me warm. As you're pretty, so be wise," he said, lilting and teasing.

"I have presents for you," Blaine said. His voice sounded like it was only in his head, flat and featureless, no space to interact with. He looked down. He held leaves and sticks and pebbles. "I had presents…." He dropped them to the floor.

"They don't matter," Kurt said. "All I want is you, Blaine. Come here. But – leave your jacket. You won't need it."

"No," Blaine said, and dropped that as well.

"Your shirt," Kurt said. "You won't need that."

"Or my pants," said Blaine, who had caught on. "Or these," and he left his underwear as well.

"No," Kurt said. "You won't need any of it."

Blaine stopped just out of Kurt's reach, just beyond the shape of the fingers he'd held a thousand times in his, and looked, letting the light hit Kurt's eyes. Blue-green-gray, striking, penetrating, beautiful and sharp as glass, all the things he'd ever thought about Kurt's eyes. "You have his eyes," he said, and then, "Did it hurt? What you did to him, did it hurt?"

Kurt stopped, the shape of his mouth twisting in the slant of light. It was Kurt's mouth, _you have his mouth_, wide and pretty with sweet small teeth like pearls, but it made a smile Kurt never would and Sebastian, of course it was Sebastian, but Kurt's voice said, "No, it didn't hurt. He never even knew. You'll go to sleep, Blaine, you'll just drift away."

And because this was the last time, the very last time he would see Kurt, or feel him, or hear him, or smell him – and it smelled like him, it did, it was Kurt so exactly – Blaine nodded and got into bed. "Keep being him," he begged.

Kurt looked down at him, surprised again, and said, "Of course I will. You don't understand how this works at all, do you, hot stuff?"

"No. I just want to be with him when I go."

Kurt's face did something so terrible – just an expression, but one of so much old pain and need and loneliness – that Blaine closed his eyes.

"Shhh," though, Kurt said, Kurt's voice, high and clear and pure, _you have his voice_. "Go to sleep. I've got you." Kurt's arm was around him, Kurt's breath warm on his face, the smell of toothpaste and the slight sourness of someone who's been sick. His lips brushed each of Blaine's eyelids in turn, and then his mouth, and by then Blaine was gone, long gone.

Kurt sighed against his neck, and ate him all up, as wolves do.

* * *

At midnight, something that looked like Blaine Anderson left the Hummel house. He locked the door behind him and pocketed the key for later.

He was humming to himself as he jogged down the walk to his car and got in. He picked up the cell phone left in the passenger's seat and scrolled through the contacts, humming still, and placed a call.

"Rachel!" he said when she picked up. "Hey, listen, I know it's late – yes, I know, it _is_midnight – but this is kind of an emergency. Can I come over?" He smiled, and wheedled, "Come on, I'll make it worth your while. As you're pretty, so be wise." He waited, and then he laughed. "Great! I'll see you in just a few minutes. I'm nearly there now."

He hung up the phone and started the car, and sang under his breath, _"Never trust a stranger-friend; no one knows how it will end…"_


End file.
